#god why couldn't i have done like literally anything else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 27 days ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

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oncloudten · 2 years ago

Text

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

ethan landry x fem!reader. scream 6 spoilers. cw: choking, mentions of sex, murder, slight dirty talk.

read part ii. here

"get the fuck off me, you sick fuck!" you managed to get out, barely breathing.

he had you completely fooled. the boy with the puppy dog eyes and the sweetest smile. every horror film has a sweet little dorky cliche virgin, and he chose to embody that role perfectly. ethan landry.

though, the virgin part wouldn't be true. and you have yourself to thank for that.

who would have thought? well, maybe mindy. oh god. she'll kill you for this– if they don't first. if he doesn't.

all those nights you spent with ethan, all those days. everytime you'd tell tara and mindy about him and your massive crush on him, and then eventually the friends-with-benefits thing you had going on, she'd try to offer you her enthusiasm and be the supportive best-friend that she usually is to you, but it would always be followed by heartfelt speeches of her telling you to "be careful" and that she doesn't trust him. she never did like him from the start.

but you weren't worried about mindy right now, you couldn't. not when ethan had such a tight grip around your neck, and your friends were somewhere in this building being chased by his family.

"hmm? i thought you liked it when i did this, princess." ethan smirks, trailing his knife on your cheeks.

asshole. of course he'd say that. because why wouldn't he? he knew everything about you. you had given yourself to him completely– in every way. something so private being used against you– someone so... wicked knowing such intimate and delicate things about you, that no one else does. you can't process anything. "t-that means nothing."

he let go of your neck, but only slightly to stop choking you. he's towering over you, pushing you up against a wall. "didn't seem like that a few nights ago when you were begging for it, you dirty fucking slut."

"fuck you."

"oh, i'd love to. but i got my hands bloody full right now. oh and, been there, done that." he says, proudly. there is something so sinister about his smile. his killer smile. "come on, you sweet dumb thing. lighten up a bit, won't you? you look like you've seen a ghost."

"if you're going to kill me, just fucking do it. why the fuck bring me here? kill me and get it over with." there's no telling what he's going to do. he has you completely isolated from sam and tara. and chad is gone— you found ethan when you were forcibly seperated when ghostface showed up, and it immediately clicked.

"oh no no no no no, you sweet pretty thing. i love sticking things in you, but i would never stick a knife in you. never hurt you. well, i mean, kill you. it's your friends that we're after." he pauses for a bit. "well that wouldn't be right to say either. it is sam and tara that we want," he inches closer to you, "but it just feels so fucking good to kill. so fucking good baby."

"you're sick."

"and you love me. isn't that what you were telling mindy and quinn a few weeks ago? hmm?"

fuck. what are the fucking chances of that wicked witch being his literal fucking sister? "that was before i found out you are the one who is actively trying to kill my best fucking friends, you dimwitted fucking asshole!"

he lets out a low chuckle. "if it makes you feel any better. you're the closest thing i'll ever get to love in this world. i do love you. well, god, did i love fucking you. y'gave me the best sex of my life. but it was more than that."

"stop. just stop. let me go." you beg, "let me go please, ethan. i'll just go- just my friends, my- chad, please."

"i can't do that, angel. my job is to keep you away from them. protect you, even. see, my lovely sister thought it'd be funny to kill you. claims you're just baggage. that it would hurt sam and tara the most because you're practically the closest thing they have to family. but i can't let that happen. so this is the next best thing."

and then all you see is black.

#scream 6 #scream 6 smut #scream 6 spoilers #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #jack champion #smut

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eternalmoonlight18 · 4 months ago

Note

Please please Shanks or Law taking care of sick!reader

Ouuuu I always wanted to do headcanons based on sick!reader!

Law and Shanks Taking Care of You When You're Sick

GN!Reader x Trafalgar Law and GN!Reader x Akagami no Shanks (pre-established relationship)

SFW!

Your immune system is usually strong, so you usually don't get sick

But one day, you suddenly fell ill, like super SUPER ill and you're bedridden

But you don't let the others find out, and everyone thinks that you're sleeping.

But once the crew finds out you're down with a sickness for the first time they freak out and tell their captains.

Trafalgar Law

Once he's alerted that you're down with illness, he heads straight to your room

He's pissed that you didn't say anything to him but he couldn't stay mad once he saw how sick you really were

He's a doctor so of course he knows what to do! He comes back to your room with a blood pressure monitor, thermometer, and an IV

Yeah he kind of goes overboard

But I think he would have an innate fear of his loved one getting sick or ill because of what happened to his family and friends with the White Lead disease and it triggers him

So he does everything under his power to make sure you're okay

"Hold still I'm trying to take your blood pressure"

"Law, this is fourth time you've done this in the last hour"

He would make sure that you're well fed with hot soup

Makes sure that you're taking your medication even though they taste terrible

"I don't want to take it"

"(Y/n)-ya, I will literally cut you in half and place that pill directly in your stomach so help me God"

He would refuse to leave your side and will sleep on a chair next to you

Will make sure that you're hydrated

Expect a 2-litre jug of water in your room and he will make you finish one a day until you better or else he threatens to hook you up to an IV

"How many times did you pee today? If you pee a lot it means you drank a lot of water which will help you recover"

"Uh I didn't go yet"

"You have 1 minute to drink 1 litre of water or else I'm hooking you up to this IV right now"

Once you're better he will force you to do checkups with him every month from now on

"I hate the infirmary I refuse to do monthly checkups. Also, isn't supposed to be annual?"

"I don't trust your immune system anymore"

He may be overbearing and too much but that's because he loves you very much and hates to see you sick <3

Akagami no Shanks

The man beelines it to your room as soon as Benn alerts him that you're down with an illness

He starts freaking out because he thinks you're dying because you've never been sick before until now

"Omg please don't die yet we have to get married first"

"Shanks, darling, I just have a flu"

Y'all know that scene where Luffy tries to make Nami feel better on Drum Island when she was sick and he makes a silly face

Yeah, Shanks does the same thing

His face is scribbled with blank ink and his hair is tied up into two ponytails as he tries to make you laugh. Hongo walks in on him and accidentally stabs Shanks with one of his needles in shock

While Hongo does the actual healing since he's the doctor, Shanks tries his best to assist him even though he was no help

"Captain can you not use my stethoscope on their asscheeks please"

"Sorry I was trying to see if I could hear their heartbeat from there"

Shanks would try to cook soup for you but for some reason it tasted like beer

"Is it delicious? I tried to make soup for you so you'd feel better!"

"Why does it taste like beer? And is that a dead fly?"

While you're sleeping, he'd put cold damp towels on your forehead and change them every hour on the dot

Shanks will also refuse to leave your side as well. He will be glued next to you until you got better

He'd give lots of forehead kisses and will cuddle with you, much to your dismay

"Honey, it's getting too hot"

"I know, it's cause I'm here"

"No you loveable idiot you're hugging me too tight, let me go before I cough on your face"

Once you're fully recovered the man is stuck to you like velcro and smothers you with his love and kisses

"Shanks stop it you're going to make me sick with all of your germs!"

"Then let's both get sick!"

He may be clueless but he does his best to take care of you because he loves you <3

------

LOL this was fun to write

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vivwritesfics · 6 months ago

Text

Hungry Like The Wolf

Chapter Eleven

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

Warnings: Horny (no smut, not yet), negative views of poly relationships (not my own views)

Series Masterlist

Feel free to buy me a coffee ☕☕

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Lando and Oscar had tried to be polite, tried to be normal about things. They went to the front door, knocked, and waited for it to be opened.

He had to make things right, Lando knew. He had to fix things with her before he inevitably made things worse.

While they were waiting for the door to open, they heard a noise. Both boys knew they wouldn't have picked up on it if they weren't... you know. But they both heard it, clear as day. "What the fuck?" Lando hissed as he looked at Oscar.

The front door opened as they disappeared around to the back of the house. "Hello?" They heard Mr Wolff call as he peered out into the night. He muttered something, something that sounded like damned kids.

But neither Lando nor Oscar were too concerned with what Toto Wolff had to say. No, they got to her window and immediately knew what was wrong.

"Seriously, what the fuck!" Lando shouted as they stared up at her, hanging from the window.

She tried to get some sort of grip on the wall, tried to find some sort of crevice to place her foot on, but there was nothing. "Don't worry about it. Can one of you just climb up here and help me?"

In the blink of an eye, Oscar was in her bedroom. Lando climbed up the tree but Oscar wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her up and back into the bedroom. "What on earth were you doing?" He asked as he pulled her inside and gently set her back on her feet. Immediately he had a hold of her hand, checking for any splinters or anything.

She shrugged her shoulders, stepping out of the way for Lando to climb his way in. "You guys disappeared out of the window and I wanted to follow," she mumbled as she folded her arms and sat on her bed.

In defeat, Oscar held his hand up. She was being as stubbornly annoying as Lando, but at least Lando had an excuse.

But Lando was just standing there, hands in his pocket, not saying anything. God, it was so damn exhausting. Oscar released a sigh and threw his head back. If left up to the two of them, nothing was going to get fixed.

"Lando has something he wants to say," he said as he leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

Lando sucked in a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms. "I..."

The words died on his tongue. I'm sorry. It was so simple, two little words and he would be done. Why wasn't he saying it? The way she was looking at him, so ready to forgive him, but Lando just couldn't see it.

He was so damn infuriating.

Oscar released an exhausted sigh. "Lando probably should explain how the full moon affects people like him. He should probably explain to you that he's dealing with heightened emotions and that is why he snapped earlier. He got scared by the thought of you leaving and..."

The two of them were looking at him, waiting for him to continue. "AND..." He prompted again, eyes flashing at Lando.

"And... I'm sorry," Lando finally repeated. His gaze dropped to his shoes. "The way I lost it was stupid. I mean, we're adults now and we can drive to see each other and now that you've got us, you can't leave for four years at a time."

A laugh left her lips. She unfolded her arms and stood from her bed. "You got that right," she said and strode towards him, arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him in closer.

Oscar watched as they, quite literally, kissed and made up. "You guys are something else," he mumbled as Lando leaned back, almost tumbling out of the window. But Oscar was behind him in a second, a steadying hand on his back, keeping the two of them safely inside.

But then they were turning towards him, on him in seconds. Thank God he was strong, steady on his feet and not human. The both of them demanded his attention, and Oscar was only happy to give it.

"Promise me you only snapped because of the full moon?" She mumbled as between kissing Oscar's cheek and neck. Kissing a vampires neck, it was a little funny, wasn't it? His puncture wounds had long since disappeared, not marring his skin like the movies made out it would.

Lando let out a hum, pulling away from Oscar's lips. "Promise," he said, fingers threading through her hair and turning her towards him. "All rational thinking goes out of the window when there's a full moon involved."

Don't tell them about the horny phase. Don't tell them about the horny phase.

He kissed her again, hands cupping her face. The whine it pulled from her was so damn sweet, it had Oscar holding back a shudder. And he wasn't even the one pulling those noises from her. He could only begin to guess the affect it was having on Lando.

But Lando pulled away from her, surprising them both. "Should we continue that date?" He asked, looking from her to Oscar.

The three of them climbed onto the bed. Oscar first, shuffling over to the other side and realising he probably should have just climbed in that side. And then her. She was supposed to climb into the middle, to lay between her two boys.

But she left that space free, left it for Lando. He swallowed thickly as he climbed between the two of them, settling down as Oscar put his arm around his shoulders. This was not going to help stave off the horny phase.

She picked the movie. Head on Lando's chest, she scrolled through her streaming services until she found something old. Another movie Oscar had seen in the cinema, this time in the seventies.

They were both tired, Oscar could tell that much. Maybe it was the way their voices were muffled and barely there. Maybe it was the way their eyes started drooping. But it also could have been the onslaught of yawns.

"You can sleep," he said, squeezing Lando's shoulder.

It wasn't permission; they both knew they didn't need permission, but they fell asleep not long after that. The two of them turned towards him, Lando curled against his side, her wrapping herself around Lando's back like a koala on it's mothers back.

Oscar made the great effort of kissing both of their heads and turned his attention back to the movie. He hadn't seen it since the seventies, hadn't cared to watch it for a second time, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

He watched them, watched as they slept. She gripped Lando's shirt so tight, almost as if she was afraid he'd disappear out of the window again if he let go.

But then the bedroom door opened.

If he'd been concentrating, he would have heard Toto coming. It would have given him time to jump out the window, or hide in the closet. Something so this looked normal. Because this wasn't normal, not even by their standards.

Toto stared at him. He stared at Toto. Like a deer caught in headlights, Oscar could do nothing else but stare. Even when Lando made that slightly distressed noise, he couldn't move to give him any sort of comfort (which was fine, because she moved closer, unconsciously pressing her face into his back).

Toto cleared his throat, but it wasn't loud enough to wake either of them. "I've leave you to it, then," he whispered and pulled the door shut.

His words might have seemed hushed and calm, but he certainly wasn't. But that was a conversation he could have with his daughter the next day. Or maybe the day after, the poor man needed time to process.

***

Let me tell you about the horny phase.

It wasn't a fun horny phase, wasn't sudden bursts of passion that overtook Lando, that led to them falling into the bed and messing up the sheets. No, it had him agitated, an itch under his skin that he couldn't quite scratch.

She wasn't helping, but she didn't know. Like that afternoon, when she was picking out an outfit for their café date. "I'm gonna roast in this," she said, changing out of the old man cardigan she had been wearing as Lando and Oscar climbed through the window.

He released an inhuman noise as she stood in front of her wardrobe, trying to pick something new. But that noise soon turned into a whimper as Oscar grabbed his arm, his free hand touching the back of her neck. "Calm yourself," he cooed.

But Lando was fidgeting, squirming in his seat. "Sweetheart, hurry up and pick something," Oscar called.

"One second," she called back, waving them both off without a care in the world.

She didn't know that Oscar had to climb on top of Lando, pinning him to the bed. Lando squirmed beneath him, seemingly enjoying it. "Stop," Oscar commanded and Lando stilled.

His lips, so sharp and so deadly, were so close to his neck. Lando tipped his head to the side, giving him more access.

He'd never tasted werewolf before. Would it be different to human? His teeth were so close to the skin, close enough to pierce. He touched, teeth grazing him, but Oscar pulled back. No, he couldn't. Not now.

"You're killing me, Lan," he mumbled and pressed his face against his shoulder.

Lando bucked his hips up. Well, as much as he could with Oscar pinning him. It was the smallest bit of satisfaction, but it was enough.

But then she turned around. "Oh," she said as she pulled her shirt down over her chest. "What's... what're we doing, guys?" She asked as she sat down beside them on the bed.

Immediately, Lando was reaching for her. His hand touched her hip before Oscar pulled him back. "C'mon," he said, his grip on Lando so damn tight. "Tell her what's going on."

When you looked at the two of them, it came as something rather unexpected, that Oscar was the one taking charge. But Lando was loving. He was loving it. He grinned as he wrapped his legs around Oscar and tucked his head against his neck. An act, one of innocence.

Oscar simply rolled his eyes. "You know how he was... emotional the other day?" He asked and she nodded. "Well, after the emotions comes the arousal," he explained.

Her eyes went wide. "A horny phase?" She asked quietly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

Lando giggled. It was that shrieking giggle she'd heard so many times growing up. But it was so damn unexpected, hearing it then, it that... setting. He reached his hand out again and, this time, Oscar let him.

At first, it was sweet, the way he kissed every single one of her fingers. But then he was nosing at her wrist before attempting to pull her into the two of them.

Oscar rolled away, but he kept one leg over Lando, keeping him from jumping at her. But Lando still lunged. He tried to dart towards her, nearly knocking his head into hers. He would have, too, probably would have knocked them both out if it wasn't for the way Oscar was holding him.

"No, no," she said as she settled on top of him as best she could with Oscar on the other side. "Let him go, I wanna see what he does."

"No way," Oscar answered instantly. But, the moment she pushed him, he rolled away, willingly. "What am I gonna do with the two of you?" He mumbled, his smile incredibly fond for the situation.

But neither of them cared as they sank into each other.

Taglist: @biancathecool

@rewmuslupin

@prettiest-at-the-party

@hellowgoodbye

@minseok-smaus

@formulaal

@darleneslane

@hiireadstuff

@urfavnoirette

@goldenharrysworld

@andydrysdalerogers

@llando4norris

@evlkking

@lilymurphy03

@hollie911

@customsbyjcg-blog

@honethatty12

@nikfigueiredo

@not-nyasa

@nurse-sainz

Series taglist (CLOSED): @cmleitora

@booksandflowrs

@evie-119

@annispamz

@neilakk

@ginsengi

@lighttsoutlewis

@charleslecler

@eviethetheatrefreak

@rbv3rstappen

@vicurious28

@val-writes

@lovecarsgoingvroom

@minmira95

@sophia12345678

@forza-dolce

@lindsayjoy444 (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

@eclipedcherry (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

@ophleiahome (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

@cassielikereading (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

@styl1shl1v (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

@ln4norizz (can you let me know if you've been tagged pls? Tumblr says you haven't)

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chris-prank · 4 months ago

Note

I need the reaction of the baes (Vincent, Esteban and Atlas) to reader thirsting loudly for strangers online. Like full on down bad simping.

I love these kinds of ask about multiple of my ocs. This way they are all compiled in one post 😆 so thank you mellsfern!

Now jealousy timeeeee

CW: Possessive behavior, manipulative behavior and mention/use of a syringe (in Vincent’s part)

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Vincent has been monitoring your online activities for a while now. It was his favorite thing to do after a long day of working on new inventions for Fatalité, being able to sit comfortably in front of his computer and check what you were up to. But lately… you’ve been checking one person’s account a bit too much on Slowgram. You liked their post the second they were up, why couldn’t you be dedicated like that with him instead!? What made his blood boil the most, was the private conversation you were having with your friend about this influencer. Paragraph after Paragraph were filled with praises, words of adoration and lewd comments on what you wanted to do to them. At first he thought it was just a passing infatuation, but he couldn't keep watching you lust over someone else, it made him see red. Dr. Seraph didn’t even have to hack into that influencer's computer to find their address, this idiot had it plastered all over their socials. At this point, they were just asking for it! At the dead of night, he easily entered their house. Hovering over the sleeping form, his face showed a scarily cold expression.

“I was lacking a test subject for my latest invention.” With precision, he plunged a syringe in the person's neck, “I wonder if they'll still think you're attractive after I’m done with you.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban snatched the phone from your grasp. One minute you were alone in the living room, liking every post of a guy online and the next you were empty handed. Unbeknownst to you, he was actually stalking your account before all this and happened to see your liked posts.

“What’s your deal?!” You jumped out of the couch, trying to take your property back.

“What’s my deal? What about yours Mmm?!” He pouted, raising the phone out of your reach, “You have a guy with the literal body of a Greek god at your disposition and you're gawking at this?”

He shook one picture in your face before retrieving it quickly. “Can you even tell that he is photoshopped? I don't need that cheap trick to look appealing.”

He couldn’t let you thirst over this loser and act like nothing was wrong. You shouldn’t need to feel the urge to simp over anyone else! All you need is him, him! That’s why he didn’t have a choice, Esteban had to have your device altered so you could never see that person's face again on any app. Without saying a word he headed towards the front door.

“Hey! Give me my phone back!”

“Don’t worry, I’m buying you a better one with some needed modifications.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas stared at the picture that you were showing to him on your phone. He already knew your feelings towards this influencer. Having connected to your social media without your consent, he had seen that you were commenting on this person's post a bit too often for his liking. Still, he acted oblivious when you started ranting about them.

“Aren’t they just so perfect!? Like they are so fine I caaaaan't!” You groaned and contracted your other hand as if you were a predator closing in on its prey.

He really couldn’t understand what you liked about them that he didn’t have. He could at least console himself with the fact that this person unobtainable, that they would never be a part of your life, unlike him. But still, he hated knowing that you had eyes for someone else to this extent.

Atlas leaned down, looking at you through his long and pale lashes. “I can be anything you want me to be, you know. I can change my hair color to match theirs or even my personality if that’s what you want.” Then, the android slowly lowered your phone down by gently taking hold of your wrist, “So no need to think about them any longer.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I love showing Vincent’s murderous and sadistic side, especially when it’s related to his darling. Also possessive Atlas is just a cutie pattotie.

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kittievampire · 2 years ago

Note

idk if you’ve done this yet but like

i just need an mc that’s just sexually frustrated and lowkey touch startled like hello, you live with the living embodiment of Lust, that’s gotta hurt especially when he’s talkin bout his latest hookup while gossiping and mc’s just like “yeh that sounds.. like you had a wonderful time” words just so fulla jealousy and hurt

okay big word wall, im sorry, it’s late and this app is a bit buggish

teal deer: sexually frustrated maybe touch starved mc just wanna get dicked down hard by anyone at this point. your choice of who, cuz let’s face it all the available options are a good contender for our poor unfortunate soul

Hhhhhhh YES

I spun a wheel of names for this one lmao

Lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if you wanna request!

Relief

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Wet Dreams, Implied Non-Con Somnophilia (MC wants it when waking up after), Teasing, Degradation, Edging, Breathplay, Slight Dacryphilia, Creampie

Enjoy.

"Fuck!" You cried out, rage and frustration laced in your voice.

Tears welled up in your eyes, half of the duvet on the floor from your incessant squirming, and a hand between your legs, that's what your situation had you reduced to. Anyone else would've been embarrassed to be in this state. And you would've been too, had you not been so desperate to get off.

You slipped your fingers out of you, flipping your body over and slumping against your bed in defeat. You glanced at your D.D.D., tapping it twice to see the picture of the youngest sin you'd set as your lock screen, date, and time.

7:40pm

It'd been two hours.

You pushed your face against the pillow and screamed against it, your sounds being muffled by the soft material.

Two hours and you couldn't cum once?!

Have the gods forsaken you? It wasn't your fault you were, quite literally, kidnapped and sent to Hell! You didn't do anything but breathe to end up here!

You clicked your tongue, pulling the duvet back up from the floor and over your heated figure.

"At this point, I'll just go fucking atheist," You grumbled, eyes sealing shut as you let sleep whisk you away, hopefully to a land where you'd get some relief.

The Avatar of Sloth was never one to purposefully eavesdrop on conversations you and his brothers had. He respected your privacy, he truly did. It's just that you decided to have such conversations in front of him. Granted, he did have his head down, but that didn't mean he was asleep. He was trying to be, but he couldn't with what you were talking about!

"It was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life," Asmodeus sighed, taking a sip of his Demonus as he rambled on about one of his hook-ups. "Like, honestly, you can't talk that much game and be horrible in bed. You get it, right, MC?" The sin glanced at the tired and irritated expression on your face. You were practically seething, not only at the fact that he was bragging but the fact that he couldn't even tell that you were upset. "Totally," You grumbled out.

Belphegor shifted in his spot, biting his lip and looking down at his lap. It was surprising that his brother couldn't tell how frustrated you were, being the Avatar of Lust and all. Anyone could tell that you were struggling to keep your cool, and he knew why. He'd see it all the time in those wet dreams of yours.

The ones where you'd seduce him in an empty classroom at RAD, or where you'd guide him to Lucifer's room to fuck in his bed (he should consider that for one of his next pranks). Whenever he'd penetrate your dreams, he'd always wake up hard as a rock.

He had considered confronting you about it, but figured he should back off.

That was until the two of you decided to have a sleepover in the attic.

You had dark circles under your eyes from how late you'd stay up trying to get yourself off. Nothing worked. Even the wet dreams you had only served to make the hours of sleep you get decrease severely due to the number of times you wake up horny and decided to take a shot at masturbating. Then, of course, you'd be up a majority of the night with a fruitless endeavor for relief. You were pissed, but you figured that you might be able to sleep properly if you got help from the Avatar of Sloth.

"Can't you, like, put me to sleep or something?" You asked, holding a pillow close to your chest. Belphegor shrugged. "I guess I could. The only issue is I'm not sure how long you'll be out." You wave your hand in dismissal, placing the pillow under your head while throwing the blanket over your and Belphie's bodies. "Make me sleep for days for all I care, just put me to sleep, yeah? I haven't gotten a full night's rest in so long."

The seventh-born chuckled and pat you on the forehead. "Alright, goodnight, MC," He whispered softly into your ear as he gently placed one of his hands over your eyes. Your breathing slowed as you felt drowsiness course through your veins and relax your muscles, readying you for slumber.

"G'night... Belphie..."

The feeling of pleasure was what you yearned for, what you chased after. However, as soon as you'd feel its warm embrace around your body, wrapped around you like a blanket, it'd always seem to disappear from your grasp. Nothing was good enough, not even the dreams you had about the youngest brother.

This one, though, was quite interesting.

You were in the attic, the same place you fell asleep in Belphegor's arms. However, your face was pushed into the pillow and your ass was in the air, his hand planted in your hair to keep you in such a degrading position. He mocked you, teased you, and fucked you so well.

"Look at you and your needy little pussy, MC," He chuckled, thrusting his cock into the warmth that was your cunt, hips bucking into your ass and thighs. "Honestly, don't you have any shame? Walking around the House of Lamentation all horny, practically begging for someone to fuck you."

All you could let out were mindless babbles as he slammed his cock deep inside of your warmth, the tip bullying that same spot that made your vision go fuzzy. You whined out his name into the pillow, only causing him to push your face further into it. "What are you over there saying, hm? I can't hear you."

The lewd way that his balls clapped against your cunt was sending the pleasure you were experiencing straight to your brain, then back down to your pussy. Your walls convulsed around him, feeling that relief just inches away from you. Just a few thrusts away and—

Belphegor pulled out of you, delivering a spiteful smack to your ass as you whined at the loss. "No! No, no, nonono!" Tears formed in your eyes as your orgasm was denied. His hand moved your hair to the side before gently pressing a sweet kiss to the back of your neck. "You're so cute when you're desperate, MC," He murmured softly, running the palms of his hands along your thighs and slowly up your ass, giving it a squeeze of appreciation. His touch was stimulating, but your peak was already too far out of reach, and you weren't going to cum anytime soon without him pleasing you. Knowing this, you pushed your ass backward, causing it to collide with his pelvis as his cock slipped between your thighs.

"Please," You begged softly, beginning to move your legs so that your thighs would rub his still-hardened cock. With a low groan, Belphie gripped your hair once more. "Please what, MC? Use your words." He ground his hips against your ass, one of his hands reaching under you to gently cup your exposed breast.

"Please, Belphie, I wanna cum," You whimpered out, blushing at the sound of his chuckle in response. "You're so needy, aren't you?"

Suddenly, you felt something push the lips of your cunt apart with its entry, letting out a soft whine. Something of similar length and size penetrated you as well, gently thrusting into your pussy. You gasped in confusion. His hands were on your ass and your breast, and his cock was between your thighs.

What the hell?

Your eyes shot wide open as you felt your body temperature rising. One of your legs was hoisted up with Belphie's hand while the other was inside of your shorts and panties, thrusting his fingers into your cunt. He gently nibbled on your neck and smiled as he watched you stir to consciousness.

"Welcome back, MC." You could feel his smile on your neck as he pressed a kiss to it. "I wonder what you were dreaming about that got you so wet down here," He teased, thumb beginning to rub slow, lazy circles over your clit as his fingers thrusted into you slowly.

You let out a sharp gasp as you gripped the bedsheets, closing your eyes and shivering as he pressed his tongue against your neck, gently gliding it over your skin. "You seemed so agitated lately... Are you sure sleep was all you needed?" He curled his fingers, making you whine. You reached one of your hands down, almost as if trying to stop the stimulation despite enjoying it so much, only for the hand that held your leg up to grab your wrist. Your leg now resting on his forearm, he leaned in close so that his lips were an inch from your ear. "If you do that kind of thing, I'm gonna start thinking you want me to stop."

You felt your heart drop at his threat, immediately lifting your leg higher to give him more access to your cunt. "That's a good girl." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, continuing his soft administrations.

However, you were quick to grow restless. You'd been trying desperately to relieve yourself for weeks, and he was going far too slow for your liking. While you didn't particularly mind him slowly pulling you apart before making love to you, you wanted him to break you, fuck you senseless into the mattress. Though, maybe you were a bit too prideful to admit that. Instead, you keened and began to roll your hips down, feeding more of his fingers into your sopping heat. Belphegor raised a brow, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. "What are you doing there, MC? Is there something you want to tell me?" You caught your lower lip between your teeth, muffling a moan as you buried your face in the pillow, not wanting to give him an answer for fear of embarrassment.

"Tch,"

You heard a squelching noise as his fingers abandoned your pussy, which only made you gasp and start whining. "W-Wait! No, I was—" You cut yourself off with a small sob as you felt that familiar pleasure escape you once more. The sin pushed your shoulder down to the bed, climbing ontop of you and pulling down his pants with a small sigh. "You're so picky about what you get, aren't you? I didn't know you were so spoiled." He flicked his tongue against the tips of his fingers before launching that same hand to your throat, capturing it in a near-vice-like grip. "You want to be treated like a whore, don't you?" He pulled down your shorts and panties. "Here I was thinking I'd have to treat you all nice and stuff," He teased, a small grin forming on his face as he ground his hardened cock against your slit.

"Fine. I won't hold back then."

With that, he lined up the tip of his cock with your entrance and shoved himself between your folds, letting out a soft groan as he forced himself deep into your heat in one go. Your cunt fluttered at the stretch, and you cried out in pleasure. That ache in your stomach that had been bugging you for weeks was nearly gone. Bottoming out almost immediately, the Avatar of Sloth gave you no time to adjust. It didn't take you long to, but it would have been easier if he didn't start pounding into you from the get-go. His hand clenched around your neck, blocking your airways just enough to where you could still breathe somewhat, but your oxygen was limited. You gently wrapped your hands around his wrist, letting out choked whines as he fucked you into the bed.

"Poor lamb—" He smiled— "How frustrated have you been that your pretty little cunt is this needy? I don't even have to move that much, it's sucking me in every time I pull out," He teased, lifting your leg to press a kiss to your ankle. His hips maintained their merciless pace, the tip of his cock bullying your G-spot with its constant abuse.

Your walls were constricting around his shaft, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter as your orgasm neared. Finally, that relief that you'd been craving was closer than ever. Your eyes rolled back as you clenched your teeth, nails digging into the flesh of his wrist.

So close, so fucking close.

Belphegor hummed at your expression, brushing his bangs out of his face as his magenta eyes scanned your body. "This isn't right," He murmured, pulling his still-hardened cock out of you and removing his hand from your throat. You gasped for air, taking in as much as you could before letting out a sob, tears forming in your eyes. "No! Why?"

The youngest brother snickered at your protest, grabbing your hips and flipping you over. "Was this the position we were in in that dream of yours?" He asked. Before you could answer, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your face into the pillow, bullying his cock into your pussy once more.

A muffled cry erupted from your throat and could barely reach his ears due to the pillow he'd shoved your face in as he began to thrust once more. "Jeez, you really are a slut aren't you? You like this kind of stuff?" He laughed softly to compliment his sweet tone and contradict his harsh words and demeaning actions.

Skin slapping against skin, squelching, muffled cries of pleasure, and soft grunts from the disheveled seventh-born were filling the room, bouncing off of the walls and drowning out the sound of flickering flames coming from the fireplace. You were close to your climax again. Whimpering into the pillow, almost as if begging him not to stop again, you gently clasped one of your hands over his. He looked down at your hip, where now both of your hands were placed. He let out a small groan as he felt himself getting closer the more sounds you made.

"Fuck," He grunted out. "Gonna cum... You want me to fill you up, huh? Like in your dreams? I can do that if you say please." Belphie growled at the sound of your muffled moans in response, pulling your hair to bring your head up so you could speak. "Go on then, beg for it."

"Please! P-Please, please, need it! N-Need it, please, Belphie!" You choked out between sobs and mewls of pleasure.

Your tongue lulled out of your mouth as his cock pushed against your cervix, your walls clenching as your orgasm washed over you. His cum coated in your juices, he slammed into you once more, balls pushing against your cunt as he came. His hips stuttered as he rode out his orgasm, fucking his cum deeper into you.

When he pulled out, you collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily with a thin layer of sweat coating your body. Belphegor didn't even attempt to fix his clothes, merely throwing them off and brushing his hair back, smiling in amusement at how the white liquid he'd gifted you spilled out of your opening.

One moment, he was pulling your clothes off to make you more comfortable. The next, your nude body was pushed up against his for cuddling.

"Sweet dreams, MC."

Hope you liked it, anon!

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me smut #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor smut #belphegor smut #belphegor obey me smut #belphegor smut obey me #omswd smut #omswd belphegor smut #belphie smut

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giorno-plays-piano · 11 months ago

Text

Binary Star

Part I

Pairing: academic rival!Satoru Gojo x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power play, hurt/comfort, no curse au, this series will get darker as the story progresses.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

____________

He is really going to get her this time. This is the finish line, quite literally: the graduation; his last attempt to win and emerge victorious from the very last battle between him and her. It has to be it.

If he couldn't win against her for the last time, Gojo would probably have a mental breakdown right in the middle of the ceremony. Geto standing right next to him rolls his eyes to the ceiling over his friend who's shaking from excitement and fear. Of course, Satoru wouldn't admit it even under torture, but Suguru knows better. The girl his friend has been competing with throughout high school isn't just smart: she's completely insane like Gojo and as big pain in the ass as him. Who knows, perhaps she'll really win this round. He prefers not to think of it.

Satoru searches for her in the crowd, standing on his toes despite already being a foot taller than anyone else in the hall. Is she here? This nightmarish woman who has been pushing him to give high school his all because she dared to take away his crown of the best student during their freshman year? When Satoru saw the scores, he thought he might have had a heart attack. There was no way he was no longer #1.

"That's what you get for messing around the chem lab," Shoko snorted while Satoru dumbly stared at the name of that annoying girl, always the teachers' pet, heading the list. His name was written right under hers.

What the actual fuck?! She got a better score than him? Him, the genius, with his undeniably superior IQ of 180 that he flaunted at any given time? Who did she think she was, Sheldon Cooper or something?

It got him so fired up he actually started studying.

"You're so dumb," Geto eventually said after his friend had gotten in the argument with the girl during their ethics class - again. "You know you could be making out with her now, right? She's the only person who could actually get along with your stubborn ass."

"Wha-a-at? What about you?" Immediately disregarding his question, Satoru was already pouting like a kid. "Wouldn't you date me?"

"Yeah, over my dead fucking body."

To be fair, it's not that Gojo never thought of her that way - she was pretty, even if he was never going to admit it out loud - but she was also so insufferable Gojo really couldn't focus on anything else but beating her in that game they were playing. The best score on the history exam? They both wanted it. Math test? Him and her were working on those questions as if their lives depended on it. Biology project? Satoru made sure to do the impossible, submitting something he would get a Noble prize for, and yet he still somehow managed to get the same grade as her. It was absolutely infuriating.

Why on Earth did she decide she could be better than him? He was Satoru Gojo, after all. The one and only son of Gojo family, who was not only embarrassingly rich but also fucking smart - his parents used to flaunt his talents throughout his whole childhood and continued doing it well into adulthood. He couldn't tell them he was no longer #1. What would his mother say? Dear God, it was hard to imagine what would happen to his father of he learned some random girl got a better grade for that English paper than him. It was, at the very least, unbecoming of Satoru.

But she was unrelenting, irritated with his status of the school genius, and ready to fight him on every occasion. Satoru had no idea what could piss her off so much - in the end, he was the most charming guy around, wasn't he? - but there wasn't a day she'd let him have his way. She was brave, persistent, and knowledgeable, and he hated her very much.

The fact that Shoko and Suguru were asking him to please get together with her and stop antagonizing the whole school only riled up Gojo even more. As if he was going to date that nerd!

When he learned she'd be running for the valedictorian, it was the last drop. No fucking way. She couldn't take it away from him - even if he had never actually cared about being a valedictorian.

If his friends had thought he was obessessing over her, now they realized Satoru went completely nuts. He started studying so much he barely slept: it was a given, considering the bags under his eyes were making his skinny ass look like a starving raccoon. Geto couldn't drag gim out even in between lessons because Satoru was immediately burying his head in the books.

It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

Pfft, of course she won't. She'll probably stab him in the parking lot once he tries to get into his car.

But when the headmaster finally announces the results, and his, Satoru Gojo's, name is called, he no longer sees her in the crowd, and the sweet taste of victory suddenly turns to ashes in his mouth.

Where is she? She couldn't have known it would be him. To be frank, he didn't either. How could she leave right before the results were announced?

He gives his speech with a stupid smile plastered all over his face, but his mood has already soured. She had to be there to hear he was named this year's valedictorian! What face did she make? Did she leave right after she heard it wasn't her? Did she cry? Did she run away because she couldn't take it? Wasn't she going to say to him anything at all?

How could she just... vanish?

He doesn't know why he expected her to be the bigger person and come tell him he did great, but he truly did. Suddenly, he realizes he wants her to look him in the face and say he is good enough.

Did he need to be the bigger person, perhaps? But, wait, isn't he a bigger person by default because he's the winner, he wondered. The winner is always the bigger person if he doesn't rub loser's face in the dirt, right?

In the end, he couldn't even enjoy the victory he had been craving for so long.

"She had something urgent come up," Shoko says later in the restaurant, making a tsk-ing sound while Gojo listens to her with a frown on his face. "Something about her family."

Something about her family? What could be as important as the announcement of valedictorian?

"Are you dumb?" With a sigh, Suguru cocks his head to the side. "Plenty of things are more important than this valedictorian crap."

Maybe to somebody else, but not to her, Satoru thinks. Beating him has always been the only thing on her mind, and nothing could have changed that.

__________

He will be mulling over it for a long, long time once he realizes she did not follow him to Harvard despite her scholarship.

Part II

Tags: @minshookie29

#yandere #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk satoru

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yudrein-aile · 5 months ago

Note

I have reached ch 400 of turning. Kinda obsessed with the difference between the two timelines Kishiyu... Yudrain is like. Young! And doesn't understand politics that well. And there's so much baggage. And meanwhile Yuder is like. 30. He's constantly like "ah these young kids". There's still baggage but he is so much older and experienced and Kishiar responds to that differently than he did + different circumstances (like. Ch 400. Full info not yet revealed). Anyway I came to !!! Because idk who else to !!! At about this

Please !!! here any time, I love hearing your thoughts! sorry you're getting a whole god damn essay reply i had to put a read more.

Yuder is, and continues to be, incredibly harsh on his younger self, especially at the start, some of it is deserved - calling his younger self arrogant and quick to anger - but a lot of it, I think, is also just colored by how much was asked of him vs. how much he could do.

Yuder judges immediately in the first chapter that joining the Cavalry seemed "like a chance for dazzling success and thrilling adventures" as he had not "outgrown his boyishness". In the same paragraph he also judges that he didn't know anything about the intrigues and politics he'd find himself in, "that everything comes with a price, and that he was not well-suited for such pursuits".

In chapter 3 he straight up calls his twenty-year-old self "a poor country bumpkin with a gloomy expression".

So like, the impression we get of twenty-year-old Yuder, to me, is that of a 20 year old kid, who's not really socialized because his grandfather died seven years ago and he's been on his own ever since, and thinks that maybe getting to meet others like him, measuring his powers against them, would be fun.

Generally spekaing, the vibes I got from Yuder is that if he could, he would've done nothing but train all day. He's not interested in leadership, but then he's made Cavalry Commander. In chapter 2, he points out this rise in status himself:

"The previous Yuder had held a great deal of power and influence as the Cavalry commander of the Empire, but now he was nothing more than a young newcomer from the countryside. Who would actually listen to someone like that?"

Think back on the literary lessons - most Cavalry members couldn't even read or write when they joined the Cavalry. Yuder could read, but not really write well. Imagine that, he's twenty, he just learned how to write properly, Kishiar manages to mcfuck himself up during the Red Stone Retrieval Mission and decides "yes, that one will be my successor".

Like to Yuder, even ten years later, it seemed like Kishiar pretty quickly and decisively decided to make Yuder his successor.

Why did Kishiar La Orr pass the position of leader to Yuder at that time? And without any hesitation, as if it had been planned from the beginning.

And it's mentioned at times - a lot more later when Yuder knows what's up - we learn also that Yuder received proper lessons from Kishiar (and Nathan) and probably a whole bunch of other people to prep him for his work as Commander. Because Yuder does do well. The Cavalry is thriving, outpacing every other organization withing years. Sure, he's an interpersonal nightmare, but he did also pay for like parties if it was requested or so. And again, he went from semi literate commoner to Count and, argueably, one of the Emperor's most trusted men. That's insane.

And now in the second timeline, Yuder takes that knowledge with him. He knows what to expect, what he learned by trial and error. Just think about the second gender manifestations that go well. Heck, his own, I'd argue, is his turning (ha) point. The first 150ish chapters really do feel like Yuder's only in survival mode, but after his own second gender manifestation, the thing that IMO definitely fucked up his and Kishiar's relationship in the first timeline (mutual non-con my beloved trope <3), it's like an awakening (sorry full of bad puns today).

And for their relationship in the 2nd timeline!! Kishiar and Nathan both pick up that Yuder's more skilled than he should be. In chapter 17 we have this exchange:

"Nathan." "Yes." After Yuder left, Kishiar, staring at the chilled teacup on the opposite side, opened his mouth. Kishiar's cup was empty, but the one on the other side remained untouched, just as it had been from the start. "What do you think of that guy?" It was an unusual question. Nathan pondered for a moment before answering. "If I hadn't heard of his background beforehand, I would never have guessed he was a commoner." He was unmistakably a commoner, an orphan, barely twenty, yet he did not falter in front of Nathan, let alone in front of the noble duke who was as esteemed as the heavens.

And in chapter 59 we got:

Ever since first meeting him, Nathan Zuckerman had been continually investigating Yuder Aile's background. But just as his lord had predicted, there was nothing to find. His past was impeccably clean.

People regularly are in genuine awe of Kishiar because of the whole sun god thing, and I'd say in the first timeline, while also annoyed with Kishiar, to a degree did treat him according to station before he was made Commander and was even more annoyed with Kishiar.

And now here comes second timeline Yuder who had like. meals with the Emperor and knows Kishiar, to a degree at least.

And Kishiar very much picks up on this. He's got a prodigy on his hands who's not afraid to say what he means - not because of arrogance, but because he's straightfroward and correct. He's fascinated with Yuder to the point of propositioning him to figure out what he's on. (rip to Nathan hope you never learn of this).

Like, man if I have to put it into words, I think 2nd TL Kishiar falls in love because he's fascinated and interested by Yuder and wants to know him wholeheartedly, while for Yuder it hmm feels a lot more like hmm devotion/dedication to an ideal? Which makes Kishiar's genuine joy when he learns a small thing about Yuder a delight to read and vice versa when Yuder realizses why Kishiar acts in a certain way.

Like in 199 we got Kishiar saying , "I was merely asking out of curiosity. Isn't it a natural human tendency to want to know more about a subject of interest?"

(Also love how in 200 Yuder is like "Kishiar is so smart and skilled it's only a question of time until he manages to seduce me" babygirl what the FUCK is that thought process. can't you just say he's hot and charming and you both have a competency kink)

uuh. i think i lost the plot a little replying to your ask but like. yes. i love how the different circumstances shape their experience and attraction to each other,

#yuder aile #kishiar la orr #turning #kishiyu #터닝 #ask #captainadwen #meta

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cfr749 · 8 months ago

Text

Initial Thoughts on Chenford in 6x07

All right... I'm feeling... a lot at the moment, so just sharing my initial reactions before seeing anyone else's. I'm sure my feelings will evolve. Also this turned into a GD essay and I'm sorry.

The Good

Grey acknowledging that Lucy was going through a lot ABOVE & BEYOND the break up. I just wish he'd mentioned the shooting, too. Lucy deserves to be more than her relationship with Tim and I need to actually see that in the future.

Lucy laying out 2 key things in her conversation with Grey - how easily Tim walked away and that he had no right to make that decision for her

Prior to the last scene (see The Ugly below), I thought Tim's interactions with the therapist were reasonably well done; if only therapy was that easy in real life lol

"You've always got a home with me" - I loved this final scene between Lucy and Tamara. I don't really have feelings either way about Tamara at this point, and this still hit me right in the heart.

Smitty's poll made me laugh, but also another solid indicator that these writers / producers do in fact really enjoy laughing at the expense of the fandom and shippers (which, whatever, I don't care that they do, I'd prob do the same; but it does irk me when people act like these writers should be worshipped because of all the things they "give" us)

The Tim

"I'm not depressed. I broke up with her."

"I was her TO." Not her friend, cuz god knows Tim has yet to deal with the fact that he started banging his former Rookie I suppose.

I dunno whether to put this in The Good or The Bad at this point; it depends on where they take it, so instead Tim gets a section all about why he's a dick.

To be clear, I do not like that Tim is a dick. But I actually do kind of like that it is very clear TO THE AUDIENCE that Tim is being kind of a dick. Do I still think people will bend over backwards to defend him? Of course they will.

From my perspective, I love Tim, I understand that he thinks he's doing the right thing, and has lots and lots of trauma. I've never seen Tim as a character that magically healed at some point between Seasons 1 & 5 (please see his storyline with his dad, his ongoing issues with UC work and unwillingness to confront or deal with them, his feelings about therapy historically, his inability to dump Ashley, etc. etc.). He's never been perfect and he doesn't need to be.

All of those things are true. None of those things give him a free pass to be kind of a dick. He still has to take accountability for how he treated Lucy (which, to be clear, was like sh*t).

The Bad

Lucy being petty AF with the invites to Tamara's dinner - let her be ANGRY, but give me villain Lucy over this dumb sh*t.

Lucy having no one other than Grey to talk to.

Others acting like Lucy is actually kind of pathetic (why do these writers love sh*tting on her so much? girl could not be down and kicked any harder at this point) -- Celina / Nolan and the double dumping crap, Lucy thinking Grey paid actors and him telling her she was out of her damn mind

The last interaction between Lucy and Tim. I am so angry for her. I needed to see that from her, but instead it felt kind of like her being dumped / a kicked puppy all over again. We got it, thanks. What's next? Lucy being incredibly happy with the hottest man on earth? I'm here for it tbh. Lucy plotting Tim's murder? Also here for it at this point. LOL.

The Ugly

I could not hate the implication of that final scene with Tim and the therapist and the door shutting more. There was ZERO reason they couldn't have had him show up during the day, and it actually disgusts me that they are pushing this line again, but especially with Tim. I am literally NEVER this dramatic, but in this case I really hope they did that to just get a reaction, because if anything were to actually happen between Tim and the therapist, I'd be 100% done with this ship and show as would a whole lot of the audience (I think). If I kept watching, it would only be to see Lucy be absurdly happy without Tim.

Well, what'd I miss? What did y'all think?

#chenford #the rookie #the rookie spoilers #see lana ramble #no one tell the writers that women can have storylines that are not about BABIES

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thescarletnargacuga · 5 months ago

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God, Scarlet, you have no idea how much I love your raceway au. True, I've never been a fan of racing and competitions, but I loved your fic from the first words.On the contrary, I was glad to see not only the official chapters, but also oneshote. This is encouraging, and I would like to ask for more raceway short fics if I were braver. I just always wanted to ask for something else at the raceway, but I couldn't get over the my fear. No, I'm serious. the showtime and and the different interactions of the characters with each other excite me. :D

And well, I would like to make a request..? I'm embarrassed to do this, but today is my birthday and I want this day to stop being bad so... I apologize in advance. Can I get some showtime raceway? I fucking love them. (Sorry for my bad English)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!🥳 Thank you for being brave and submitting an ask! If it helps in the future, you can submit anonymously! This will work as a direct continuation of Burger!

BURGERS AND TIES

A RACEWAY AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

Raceway AU by me

WARNING: NONE!

~~~

Caine and Pomni were neck and neck around the final turn of the track, racing full speed towards the finish line for the third time. Both had steely determination to win, but with no items on the default track to use, it came down to kart maneuvers.

Their racing drew the attention of those inside, gathering on the lawn to watch the Caine and Pomni. They'd never seen someone race Caine before, none had dared try. He was the game's host, there was no way he could lose. It was surprising enough that Pomni was giving him a run for his money.

"WOO! GO POMNI!!" Ragatha cheered from the sidelines.

"YOU'VE GOT THIS, POMNI!!" Gummigoo shouted too.

Pomni couldn't hear her friends over the engine and wind but she could see them jumping up and down with excitement. Her heart leapt with joy from their support.

Pomni bumped Caine's kart in an attempt to throw him off on the final stretch. He steered into her in response. Their karts slammed together, sparks flying as they rapidly approached the finish line. The eye contact between them was intense, no longer looking forward on the straightaway.

Caine's code thrummed as the literal sparks between them flew. He was mesmerized by the way her hair flew in the wind, occasionally flitting over her eyes wildly. The sheer strength of her will to win would have struck fear into lesser men. To him, it was beauty incarnate.

Pomni felt a rush like no other. A digital adrenaline response that made her fearless under the gaze of a being as powerful as Caine. If anything, she found him endearing. Cute, even. He wasn't some overlord, but an eccentric showman eager for a good time. While his win-hungry gaze was piercing, there was a certain tenderness in it that made her heart flutter.

They blazed over the finish line together, slamming their brakes simultaneously to stop and check the leader board for which one of them won. The board pronounced the race a tie. Again.

Pomni and Caine groan and temporarily collapse in their karts, catching their breaths.

"How....how?" Caine repeated breathlessly.

"I don't know." Pomni responded, just as winded.

The others rushed Pomni, all talking and congratulating at once. Pomni shakily climbed out of her kart, nearly falling over from race rush withdrawal and being supported by Ragatha. "You did it! Holy smokes, you almost beat him!"

"Woo..." Pomni weakly cheered.

"Why don't you race like that all the time?" Jax inquired, brow raised. "If you did, you'd smoke everyone here but me." He chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. It obviously takes a lot out of her." Ragatha defended, holding onto Pomni.

Caine got his head straight, literally adjusting it, and floated out of his kart. "Well done, Pomni! That's the second time you've nearly beaten me at my own game. I must say, I'm impressed."

Gangle giggled, watching Pomni's reaction.

Pomni bashfully avoided everyone's stares. "Uh...heh, it's really not that big a deal-"

"Yes, it is!" Ragatha lightly shook Pomni, making her hat bells jingle. "You're incredible!"

"Thanks..." Pomni said with a shy smile.

"I don't mean to break up this lovely congratulation, but I do believe I have properly earned your attention." Caine crosses this arms lightly.

"Huh..? Oh, yeah." Pomni blanked at first but then remembered what she said. He had wanted to ask her something, but in her hangry frustration, challenged him to a race before he could explain himself. She broke away from Ragatha and stepped closer to Caine.

Caine looked at all the eyes on him and Pomni. He cleared his voice. "Please, excuse us." He put his hand on Pomni's shoulder and teleported away with her.

"They're totally gonna [%$!#]."

"JAX!!" Ragatha scolded with an angry fluster.

"For once, I agree with Jax." Zooble commented dryly.

"Z-!?" Ragatha choked.

"DID ANY OF YOU SEE THE WAY HE WAS LOOKING AT HER!? AAH-! MY HEART CAN'T EVEN!" Gangle shouted with utmost glee.

"Nah, mate. You're not the only one." Gummigoo chuckled. "That's one smitten bloke. It's hilarious."

"Ooh! Ants!" Kinger stared at the grass.

Caine and Pomni reappeared out of bounds, in the privacy of Caine's asset workshop. He reluctantly removed his hand from her.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Pomni asked.

"I was originally going to ask you your opinion on a new track idea I had but... Now I would like to ask you something else." He put his hands behind his back. One hand poised to snap.

"Oh?"

"Would you join me for lunch? I saw what you did to your burger and figured maybe....you're still interested in eating?"

A broad smile spread across Pomni's face. "Yeah, I am!"

"Excellent!" He snapped. A table with a red and white checkered cloth appeared behind him; along with plates of burgers and fries, and milkshakes. He backflipped over to the chair and pulled it out for her with his cane.

Pomni took the seat eagerly and dove into the food in front of her, taking huge bites of the perfect burger.

Caine didn't have a chair on his side. He sat in the air, legs crossed and stirred his milkshake idly. He wanted to give her a moment to her food before he struck up conversation.

Pomni looked at the burger in front of Caine and stared at him. She swallowed her mouthful. "You're not eating?"

Caine shrugged. "I've rarely done so, in an attempt to fit in, but it's a rather... awkward process." He pointed to the eyes inside his mouth. "These peepers tend to get in the way."

Pomni furrowed her brow in a curious expression. "Now I need to see that." She slurped on her milkshake.

Caine blinked in surprise. "Oh.. alright." He picked up the burger and his eyes flew out of his mouth and hovered over the top of his head as he bit down.

Pomni snorted and milkshake came out her nose. "You- you look like a Muppet!" She coughed and laughed at the same time at such a goofy sight.

Caine's shoulders shook with silent giggles as he quickly chomped down the burger. It disappeared from his mouth after only a few chews. His eyes went back to their original spots. "What I tell you? It looks weird." He couldn't help but smile at Pomni finding him so amusing.

Pomni wiped her face with her sleeve. The mess vanished, which she assumes was Caine's doing. "Thanks for this. I've really been craving a burger lately and wasn't really succeeding at eating one today for some reason." She dipped a fry in what was left of her milkshake.

Caine's smile warmed. "My pleasure, Pomni. You certainly earned it from me, that's for sure." He rested his chin on his hands. "Tell me, how have you kept up so well? I was really trying to beat you this time."

Pomni shrugged. "I don't know, really. I'm sure your kart is a lot faster than mine, but the karts are also kind of... weird. Maybe this isn't a secret and I'm just now noticing, but the karts seem to respond to the drivers in more ways than just pressing pedals and buttons."

"They respond to intent. It's part of the programming. The longer you race, the more your kart will be capable of because you'll sort of...bond, if you will. Once the kart has a feel for your racing style, it'll start responding before you do."

"So, the karts are sentient AI as well?"

"AI, yes. Sentient, no. Believe me, I've checked. The last thing I need are sentient karts running off with my racers."

"Why wasn't this mentioned earlier? Seems like an important thing to know about the karts."

"Gotta keep some things to the imagination, but I admire your curiosity, so I'm willing to answer your questions and explain things I would normally brush a side if brought up."

"You seem to make an awful lot of exceptions for me." Pomni squinted, a playful accusatory look in her eye.

Caine smirked, a light blush coloring the air around the sides of his face. "Gives me excuses to be around you. I enjoy your company."

"I enjoy your company, too." Heat rose to Pomni's cheeks. "So...to answer your question. I've been keeping up with you because I really, really want to- er, to win." The heat in her cheeks intensified.

"And you almost did. Dare I say... If you had ignored me, you probably would have. But you held my gaze." He rose and moved to her side of the table.

Pomni stood to meet him. He hovered close at her level. Pomni felt her heart race faster the closer he got. He took her hand and held it with both of his. She swallowed a dry lump in her throat, nerves threatening to choke her.

"Pomni...I would like to confess something, if you'll hear me out." Caine's code fluttered around like he swallowed an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Pomni only nodded in response.

"I...don't know what I'm doing when it comes to human emotion, but I do know something with absolute certainty. I like you. A lot. Your smile, your laugh, your personality, your beauty... everything about you draws me in like a moth to a flame. I want to be around you all the time. I want to hear your stories, your joys, your fears, your fury. From what I have observed from the humans, these feelings are associated with romantic intent. So... I was wondering if..." Caine struggled to finish his sentence. The maddening butterflies in his code were going insane.

"Yes." Pomni said with a smile.

Everything stopped. It was like time in the game itself froze for half a second. Caine's hands trembled, squeezing hers lightly in an attempt to curb the shakes. "You're interested? In we- in us- uh-" He felt a blue screen coming on.

"Caine, you're sweet. You try so hard to get my attention, when you already have it." She gently held her free hand to the side of his lower jaw. "I was hesitant to say anything because...I was unsure too. You're brave to speak up first."

Caine nearly literally melted at her calling him brave. "Are you...sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this. I really don't know what I'm doing, and I'm terrified..."

"Of messing up?" She gave a sympathetic look.

He nodded.

Pomni leaned in and kissed the side of his lower jaw opposite her hand. "That's a pretty human thing too. We'll figure it out."

Caine touched where she had kissed him. His blush brightly floating in front of his face. He gazes lovingly at her. "Yeah...we will."

~~~

A/N: as another treat for your birthday, I will let you know that the next fic to be released will be Chapter 10 of Raceway!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc fanfiction #tadc caine #tadc pomni #tadc showtime #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc gangle #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #showtime ship #the amazing digital raceway #tadc au #raceway au #tadc kinger #tadc zooble #tadc gummigoo

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writethrough · 2 years ago

Text

Fill In the Cracks

(Steve Harrington x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: There's no way someone like Steve would love you. It's only a matter of time before he forgets you.

Warnings: Self-deprecation, feelings of unworthiness, angst to fluff, language

Word Count: 2016

A/N: In celebration of 500+ followers, here is my Steve fic you voted on! Admitted, this is not the original one I had in mind, but one I thought of this idea, I couldn't stop. I hope you enjoy it! And thank you to those who have supported my writing. I'm truly blown away by your kindness.

Watching Steve flirt with every woman who enters Family Video may kill you. Not because he sucks at it—god, he’s such a dork, all faux suave and big eyes. You don’t know how any woman could turn him down. You fluster just from witnessing it.

No, you’ll end up six feet under because he never flirts with you.

It’s pathetic how you crave his attention when nothing will ever happen between you.

Still, you wait for the moments when his eyes turn to you. The ones where he throws you a smile or pulls you in for a hug. He’s always so warm…

He has this unbelievable ability to make you feel safe. And you can’t recall a time that's ever happened.

But it doesn’t matter how you feel.

Steve will never give you the looks you want. Or the flirty smiles. Or the relationship he’s constantly seeking out.

You’re only you.

“I should really get a new sign,” Robin sighs loudly, shaking you from your thoughts. “The board would already be full.”

You’re thankful she’s distracted with teasing Steve, or else she may notice how you zoned out while she was talking.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Steve says. “I suck.”

You try to give him the best sympathetic smile you can muster, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

His head tilts slightly, but Robin pushes the cart toward him before he can say anything.

“It’s your turn to stock. There are some new tapes in the back,” she says.

He rolls his eyes but takes the cart without complaint and walks to the back room.

Robin leans her elbows on the counter and raises an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask.

“You just had to watch that.” She gestures to where Steve had stood. “Granted, it was bad. I’m sure it wasn’t fun.”

“I don’t get what you’re talking about, Robin.” Surely she doesn’t know…does she?

“I’m talking about your massive crush on a certain employee here,” she says. “And I’m not talking about Keith or me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “How did…How did you know?”

“You looked like a kicked puppy when he started talking.” Her tone is gentle as she levels you with a look.

You fiddle with your fingers. “It’s not like it matters.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

You meet her gaze, and she really has no idea what you’re talking about.

“How I feel,” you whisper. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters.” She matches your volume. “If you like him, you should tell him.”

You shook your head. “And embarrass me? Make everything weird between us? No.”

“That’s assuming he doesn’t feel the same,” she says.

“He just got done flirting with another woman. In what world does that mean he likes me back.” There’s a slight tingle in your nose, and you blink a few times before the tears can come.

“Maybe he’s thinking the same as you are: he doesn't want to make things awkward.” Her tone is reassuring and hopeful. Her heart is in the right place, but you know better.

“C’mon, Robin, it’s not like I’m anything special.” You say it as if it’s obvious. “I’m not the type of person guys give a second look, let alone love. I’m just…I’m just here.”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean you’re ‘just here?’” She doesn’t give you room to respond. “You’re my best friend! Do you think anyone else could put up with me?”

“What about Steve?” You raise an eyebrow in challenge.

“Steve is Steve. But you are my ride or die.” She levels you with a look. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I’m unlovable’ crap. You are the kindest, most considerate person I know! You literally fight monsters and have saved every one of our asses—multiple times!”

You open your mouth, but she’s on a roll.

“And as for those guys you’re referring to—fucking dumbasses. If they can’t realize how amazing you are, then fuck’em. Well…not really. But you know what I mean!”

You feel a little awkward that you caused her to say all that, but mostly, you’re touched. And your feet are carrying you over to her before you can register what’s happening.

You pull her into a hug, holding back tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” she says, wrapping you in her arms. Like the action alone will convince you of her words.

You both slowly separate, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“We all love you. You’re important to us. And if you ever need reminding, tell me, okay?” she asks.

You nod. “Okay.”

—

Steve’s chest hurts.

He heard everything.

He’s in the back, ready to come out with more videos to stack when he hears you talking to Robin.

And all he wants to do is burst out and make you realize how wrong you are.

How could you think you’re forgettable?

How could you think you’re unlovable?

Especially when he’s right here? When he’s completely gone for you?

He wants to kick himself for flirting with that girl and everyone before her. He should have just told you how he feels.

He nods along to Robin’s reassurances, urging his agreement to somehow ease your mind.

He has to do something.

You deserve the world. You deserve to know how much he values you—how much you mean to him. That he returns your feelings.

Just the thought of being with you sends his heart skyrocketing. He would think he’s dreaming if it weren’t for how you spoke about yourself.

After your conversation ends, he waits ten minutes before emerging from the back.

He throws you a smile, your words still echoing in his head. And as he shelves tapes, he decides it’s finally time he tells you.

—

You hang around Family Video until Steve clocks out. Tonight’s your weekly pizza and movies. And despite your little confession with Robin, you’ll never rob yourself of alone time with Steve.

You watched two movies and ate half of the pizza when you took a break to stretch your legs.

Steve sets up in front of the sink, and you grab a dish towel without a word. An additional part of your ritual.

You can tell by the way he moves something’s bothering him. He’s been off all night.

In these quiet moments, you know you’ll get an honest answer.

“Do you need to talk about something?” you ask, drying the first plate.

He doesn’t glance at you or indicates he even heard you. Just scrubs the nonexistent sauce from the dish.

You run the towel over the plate again, so you’re not standing there looking at him, so you’re not pressuring him to tell you.

He hesitates a second before he speaks.

“I heard you earlier,” he says, washing the dish in his hand. “With Robin.”

You freeze mid-swipe, your conversation flashing through your head. Then continue just so your hands are doing something.

“...And?”

He wouldn’t bring it up if he didn’t want to fight you on it. You know him too well. Steve is sweet, too sweet for his own good sometimes. You never wanted him to know your feelings.

“...Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as gently as ever. He could’ve been settling your fears.

He could’ve been telling you he loves you for years.

You shrug as if you don’t know, putting the plate away.

He sighs when you don’t elaborate.

“You aren’t forgettable.” He turns to you. “You could never be.”

You let out a humorless laugh through your nose. “Tell that to my friends from kindergarten. Or elementary school. Or maybe the ones from middle—”

“I will never forget you. I don’t care about those dickheads you called friends. It’s their loss.” His jaw clenches. “You matter to all of us.” You matter to me.

You don’t let his words penetrate. You can’t because once you do, he's bound to leave. So, you swing the hammer and embed another nail in the wall.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” you whisper, eyes closed, waiting.

You can hear his hands form fists, his teeth grind, and you want to hide. Away from his anger, his disappointment.

But when he speaks, his tone isn’t angry. It’s soft, disbelieving…

…heartbroken.

“I don't get why you think you’re so hard to love.”

You swallow, still avoiding his gaze. If you look at him, your floodgates will break.

“Because I am,” you whisper. And you can’t help how refreshing your honesty is. It’s addicting. “Who in their right mind would love me?”

What sorry, self-sabotaging, blind person will ever love someone as flawed as you? How could anyone see any value in all your cracks and chips?

Broken things are thrown away. Love doesn’t come to something past its prime.

“I do,” he says. “I do. Everyday.”

Your brow furrows, mind coming to a screeching halt.

He can’t be serious.

He’s reassuring you. Saying he loves you as a friend. Nothing more.

Because Steve Harrington can do better. So, how could he love you?

“I’ve loved you for a long time now. And it’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He swallows, unnerved by your silence.

He waits, knowing he may have ruined the best thing that’s happened to him. But he had to tell you. You have to know that you’re everything to him.

You finally, finally meet his eyes. They’re watering, and he wants to take you in his arms and protect you. But the last thing he wants is to scare you, to push himself on you if you don’t feel the same.

“Do you…Do you mean it?” you whisper, desperation clear in your tone. You're too fragile to care.

“Of course I mean it.” He steps toward you. “I’ve meant it for the past two years.”

Your eyes widen. “Years?” You barely get it out.

He nods. “Just waiting for you to realize.” He can feel the energy shifting. You’re out of your head. “Didn’t know I’d have to spell it out for you.” He huffs good-naturedly

You breathe out a laugh of disbelief. “Of course, you’d have to spell it out! How the hell was I supposed to know you love me?”

All those girls come to both of your minds. It makes him sick.

“I’m a coward,” he says.

You tilt your head as if to say, “No, you’re not.”

He only shrugs, a fond smile on his face. “You always tease me and ask if I have my eye on someone. And I’ve never lied to you.”

“You also never asked anyone o—“ You slowly realize what he means. “Me?”

He nods. “You.”

You're silent long enough that it makes him nervous. But all you can think about is how much time you’ve wasted not being with him in the way you want.

“So there you go, not unlovable.” He rocks on the balls of his feet.

And it’s that nervousness that makes you realize you have yet to respond.

“I love you, too, Steve.” And once again, honesty is addicting.

“Really?” He grins, all big and bright.

You nod, a shy smile on your face. “Really. I’d have to be crazy not to.”

He carefully takes your hands, dragging his thumbs over your knuckles, memorizing your softness.

“So I love you. You love me. Is it safe to say you’re officially mine?” He bites his lip. You want to pull it free.

“I think so,” you tease. “Unless you want to wait another two years.”

He shakes his head frantically, though the smile is still there. “No, no, definitely not.” He clears his throat. “So…can I kiss you now?”

He’s already leaning in, too eager to care if he’s coming off too excited.

You hum softly, meeting him halfway.

It’s everything you imagined it would be. Soft and warm, a minty sweetness from that spray Steve keeps in his pocket, and gentle. As he always is with you—like you’ll shatter if he presses too hard. But you want to break this time because he will help put everything back together.

Taglist: @bookshelf-dust, @steph-speaks

If you'd like to be added to any tag lists, please message me or comment with the character you'd like to be updated on.

#Steve harringtion #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #Steve Harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington imagines #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington stranger things #Steve Harrington friends to lovers

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osleeplessflowero · 3 months ago

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Hello hello! Hope you're doing well! I was wondering if you might want to make a platonic angsty (followed by comfort) oneshot? I just found your account, and I feel like there aren't a lot of platonic sans/papyrus and reader fanfics. Could I request an Underfell AU (If you do that) one shot with either Sans or Papyrus (aka Red and Edge) where they get into an argument with reader and some stuff is said that they didn't mean? Followed by some comfort ofc. Thanks!

ahhh hurt/comfort my beloved! thank you so much for your request! here's some angst coming right up. ;) 🌺

Request specifics: - Underfell Focused/Centered - Platonic! - Hurt/Comfort - Angst - Fluff

Oneshot Masterpost

You'd..gotten into some trouble.

Okay, a lot of trouble.

Living in the Underground was bound to bring its problems. Fights and Encounters taking place anywhere you look, monsters at each other's throats every second of the day over something as small as getting a seat at Grillby's bar. When you live in an area full of trouble, you're bound to get into some of it yourself. You do what you have to to survive.

Even if it means you get hurt.

Sans had noticed. How could he not see you coming home covered in bruises and scars, going through the next day with bandages like it was nothing at all? It irked him, knowing you kept going out and getting yourself thrown into trouble. Why would you do that? Why would you willingly go out into harm's way? It pissed him off to no end that he couldn't understand. And so one day..he decided it was time to confront you about it.

Sneaking out of your room, you make your way downstairs to the front door, placing a hand on the knob. You jolt when you feel magic around your soul, freezing you in place. Caught red handed. Slowly, reluctantly looking over, you spot Sans sitting on the couch with crossed arms. Seems he was waiting for you to do this..Crap. How long's he known? This was supposed to be kept under wraps!

"you have any idea how late it is?" He asks, a rhetorical question. You furrow your brows, narrowing your eyes a bit at him. You can't run. He has you right where he wants you, and you can't move an inch without taking damage.

"..Yeah. And?" You reply, looking over with an annoyed expression. He narrows his eyesockets at that.

"where the hell were you plannin' on going? it's the middle of the fuckin' night. you know how bad snowdin gets during the night, it's when the crooks come out." He leans forward a bit as he speaks.

"I know that. I just..had business to take care of, and I need to hurry and go get it done-"

"you don't need to do anything. what the fuck is going on?" Concern seeps into his voice. Worry, even. A dangerous thing to have down here.

"Would you just stay out of it? You don't need to know everything about me, Sans. Just let me go!" You struggle to move, as if there's some way you could possibly break free from his grip to run.

"and let you come home injured again? hell no! i've seen how bad you've been getting, and it's obviously being done by someone else. who is it?"

"You wouldn't understand, okay? It's personal business. Business I can handle on my own-"

"i swear to the angel, you are always doin' this shit. you keep gettin' yourself into trouble, gettin' yourself hurt, when you could be doin' literally anything else! you don't have to go out and get hurt like this for whatever reason that you think is justified!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" You raise your voice at him. He stands up, removing his hands from his jacket pockets.

"of course i do! i fuckin' lived it!" He puts a hand against his clothed ribcage, furrowing his browbones. "i'm not about to see you do the same shit i did-"

"I was doing it for US, Sans! If- If I keep going and I win, they can leave us alone- I can keep us safe!"

"you don't NEED to do that! i can fight, i've fought for years to protect this house! stay here where i can protect you! GOD, you can be so fuckin' stupid sometimes! this is why you kept being taken advantage of! you don't know when to fuckin' quit! you're actively hurting yourself! you have no damn idea what you're getting into, and you can't even fight back against them! you're WEAK!-"

Both of you freeze. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Sans holds his hands in the air, suspended almost.

"..fuck, i..listen, i didn't mean- fuckin' hell." He puts a hand against his forehead.

You sniffle, silently watching as he lets go of your soul before running upstairs to your room and slamming the door shut. Papyrus walks down the stairs with an irritated expression, arms crossed as he looks at his brother.

"Apologize. PROPERLY." He narrows his eyes at him, making him shrink as he goes upstairs, sitting down against your door. Hearing your sniffling on the other side makes him wince, as he stares down at the floor.

"listen, i'm sorry. i didn't mean that."

You hug your knees close to your chest, staring down at the bandages on them. He leans a bit more against the door, you can hear his jacket shift as he does.

"i'm just..i'm so tired. tired of seeing you come home like this. it pisses me off. you shouldn't think you need to risk your life for us. we've had a lot more fightin' experience. ..you're one of our closest friends. i know you can fight for yourself. but please..don't go out runnin' into danger. it..it worries me."

You look back at the door.

"..if somethin' happened..i wouldn't know what i'd do. i couldn't stand it. the idea of losing you. you mean a lot to me, more than you know. so please.." He pauses when you begin opening the door for him, standing up.

You give him a long look. His eyelight meets your eyes. It's quiet for a moment, before you rush forwards, hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry. I just..I just wanted to-"

"i know." He shushes you calmly, patting your back. His voice is softer than his usual tone. Comforting to your ears (if you have any, that is.) "i know. i appreciate that you were thinkin' of us. but please..don't do it anymore. i'll handle those punks myself. they don't have any right to do that shit to you. okay? stay safe. ..let us take care of ya."

He backs up a bit, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"you gonna go?"

"..No.." You frown. He gives your shoulders a pat, before leading you back downstairs to sit on the couch together. Changing the channel to some movie you both like, he sinks into the cushions.

"..i've got your back, y'know. don't go in like that without me. i'll be there for ya in a heartbeat." He nudges your shoulder with his own. You smile a little bit, appreciating the gesture.

"Yeah..okay." You look down at your bandaged hands. "I just thought..if I'd fought them enough times..they'd know to back off. Because I'd defeat them. Then they wouldn't give you guys any trouble while we're out and about..they're a bunch of assholes, and I just got so mad that I..I wanted to fight them."

"i know the feeling." He rests his arms in his lap. "but they don't just wanna pick petty fights. some of those bastards are out to kill. you can't go in blind, knowin' that. yeah, you made it out the last few times..but who's to say what would've happened if you went in and they had a weapon this time?"

You furrow your brows. "I guess you're right..I was in over my head."

"..just try to be more careful from now on, okay?"

"Okay, Sans." You lean on him, watching the TV. He puts an arm around you, relaxing as you both focus on the movie. Papyrus sighs, relieved and..a little surprised that was resolved so quickly. But, he supposes, that's what makes you such good friends. Even if you fight..it's not for very long.

He stills when you fall asleep against him, pulling a blanket over you and shaking his head.

"what am i gonna do with you?.." He huffs, focusing on the screen until he falls asleep himself. Papyrus turns off the TV after a while, covering the both of you up.

"Always Getting Yourselves Into Trouble.." He shakes his head. "You're Painfully Similar."

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #underfell x reader #underfell sans x reader #undertale x reader #fell sans x reader #underfell sans #hurt/comfort

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oliviaischillin1204 · 2 months ago

Text

tickletober day 11- "hug"

word count: 2,893 words

before ANYTHING else, i have to give the most credit ever to @radio-navlee - i took a lot of inspiration from this post of hers about dadvid (dad!david lol) and max tickle hc's, and it straight up inspired me to write for this show that i genuinely love so much. this fic may be kind of ooc in a few places, but i has a lot of fun writing it, so i hope you enjoy!

This whole thing was so stupid.

Max didn't even know why he was trying in the first place. Ever since David started fostering him, the camp counselor was being stupidly affectionate around him. Ruffling his hair, squeezing his shoulder as he passed Max at the dinner table, covering him with a blanket when Max pretended to fall asleep on the couch. It pissed him off, and he didn't even totally hate it, which pissed him off more. Fuck David.

And the thing that was pissing him off the most? David's stupid hugs. Not because Max was, like, too traumatized and touch-starved by his shitty neglectful parents or whatever. He didn't need David to be soft or gentle or whatever the fuck-- he wasn't made of glass. It didn't take long for the man to realize that, and it was only a matter of time before he was swooping Max up into a hug at least once a day. Of course Max would snarl and curse and try to escape-- it's how he was.

But what was so stupid, what was genuinely so ridiculous and embarrassing it put Max on guard to even think about it, was that... he was starting to want David's hugs. Because David's hugs could tickle.

When he first noticed it, it was an accident, of course: David wrapped him in his arms, even picked him up and swung him around a little. Max was used to this. What he wasn't used to, though, was the way David's hands on his sides gave him a little squeeze, his fingers curling in just so to keep Max from falling to the ground. David didn't even seem to notice he did it; Max couldn't notice anything else.

So of course he screamed and kicked David in the nuts, dropping to the floor as David fell to his knees. Later, after he recovered, David took this a subtle sign that Max didn't want anymore hugs.

Which he didn't.

Except maybe later that night, when he was in the spare room on the little futon sofa David swore they'd replace with a real bed as soon as possible, he couldn't stop thinking about the rush of feeling that went through his body when he'd been tickled. David hadn't mentioned anything about it, so Max was pretty sure he didn't know what he'd done, which somehow made it better and worse at the same time. It made it better because Max didn't have to defend himself from any future attacks, didn't have to protest against any teasing that David was sure to throw his way if he knew Max was ticklish.

But it also made it worse, because if Max wanted it to happen again, he would have to be the one to do something about it.

Hence the single stupidest scheme Max had come up with since leaving Camp Campbell: try to get David to accidentally tickle him during a hug again.

God, fuck David.

His plan started the next morning when he came out for breakfast. David was there, chipper as ever and literally whistling as he made his coffee. He must've heard Max's footsteps over his whistles, though, because he stopped and turned around with a smile already on his face.

"Hey, kid- oh!"

Max didn't let David finish his sentence before he wrapped his arms tightly around the tall man's midsection. He refused to look up, instead just waiting for David to return the hug.

He didn't. Max waited several beats longer than he ever normally would before peeking upwards.

David has a look on his face that was a perfect mix of shock, joy, and concern. His arms were half-lifted in the air, like he was afraid of even touching Max.

"Max...?" He spoke like he was trying not to startle him. "What's wrong?"

Max flushed and yanked his arms away. "Nothing! Fuck off." And with that he shoved David away, snatched the coffee mug off the counter and stalked back to the living room, grateful that his skin color meant his blush wasn't that visible.

Jesus, that was a shitshow. He'd hoped the man's stupidly cheerful demeanor would result in him doing what Max wanted right away, but David also had the annoying tendency of being very overly careful and hyper-aware of Max's whole vibe ever since he realized what grade-A shitholes his parents were. He probably thought Max was having a brain aneurysm or something.

Max slurped his coffee in thought. He'd have to try again, and David better get it right next time.

David didn't get it right next time, or the next time, or the time after that. Fuck David!

It had been a week of these stupid embarrassing moments, of Max hugging David and taking too long to pull away in the hopes the man might take the hint. It only took a couple attempts for David to chill out when Max hugged him, and after that things were pretty much back to normal: he'd give Max a quick squeeze around the shoulders, but never tried to pick him up again. This happened multiple times a day, and Max didn't know what was worse: David thinking he constantly wanted hugs, or David finding out what he actually wanted was tickles.

Tonight, they were watching a movie, some PG-13 thing that was one of the few genres that they could both agree on (romantic comedy). They were sitting side by side on the couch, wrapped in blankets and trying to balance the popcorn bowl in between them.

Suddenly David made a thoughtful noise. "Hey! I just remembered, we have raisins and peanuts in the kitchen-- what do you say we turn this popcorn into trail mix?"

"Don't you dare ruin this popcorn for me, David," Max shot back. "It's not meant to be healthy, it's meant to be salty and buttery and make your stomach hurt after."

David raised an eyebrow. "What if I throw in some pretzels and M&M's, too?"

Max wavered.

"... Only if they're the curly pretzels," he decided, flopping back onto the couch as David removed himself from his blanket burrito and headed toward the kitchen. The movement jostled Max's own blanket, pulling it to the side, and a sudden shiver racked its way up his body. Jesus, why did David keep it so cold in here?

Without thinking about it Max grabbed the blanket David had been using and threw it over himself, burrowing deeper into the softness. His signature hoodie wasn't just for looks-- he actually did get cold pretty easily.

When David came back, Max pretended to be laser focused on the TV screen.

"Now, what do we have here?" David asked, bemused and calm. "Didn't know you were a blanket thief, kiddo."

"Fuck off, I'm cold," Max replied, "and I'm a kid so you can't take it away from me."

"Language! And I wasn't going to take it back." David stepped closer and placed the trail mix bowl on the coffee table. "But do you think we can share it?"

Max looked up at him, glaring. David returned the look with a patient smile.

"... Fine."

He stayed purposefully still as David rearranged the blankets to accommodate both him and Max. The few inches of space between them were gone, and now Max found himself pressed against David's side, his arm throw over the back of the couch behind Max's head.

Max hesitated. He didn't wanna try his stupid plan anymore tonight, especially since he was pretty much giving up on it since David was so dense he couldn't even figure out what Max actually wanted from all those hugs. Still... he did want to be comfortable. So after a minute of indecision, he rested his head against David's shoulder, curling his legs up onto the couch until he was practically a ball under David's arm.

He expected David to tense up, or freak out, or ask him if he's okay again. But to his surprise, none of that happened. Instead, David immediately shifted his arm to wrap around Max's shoulders instead. It happened so quickly Max thought he'd planned it.

He looked at David suspiciously. "Did you plan this?"

To his surprise, David snorted. "Me? You're the one who stole the blanket, kiddo."

"You left it behind and you didn't call fives. It's my blanket now."

"Oh, is that right?"

Before Max even knew what was happening, David's hand was on his side, scribbling against his ribs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He couldn't help it; he gasped, gripping the fabric tight in his fists, and shoved his face into David's shoulder.

Immediately the motion stopped. After a beat, Max peeked up to see David smiling sheepishly at him.

"Sorry," he said. Then he just... kept watching the movie.

That was it. Max shot a hand out of the blanket nest, grabbed the closest pillow he could, and whacked David in the face with it.

"Ahh!" David screamed, more in shock than in pain. His hands went to his face, checking for injuries, and he looked at Max with wide eyes. "What was that?"

"Why did you stop?"

Max knew, he knew he was being weird, but he didn't care. He kept his annoyed face even as David's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why did I stop what?"

Jesus. Christ. "The thing you were just doing."

"The thing I was just doing?" His face morphed slowly from confusion to surprise. "You mean-- when I tickled you?"

Max flopped back to the couch, arms crossed. "Ugh. Yes, that."

"You're annoyed that I... stopped tickling you?" Oh, fuck. Now David's voice had an inkling of... fondness, or something stupid like that. Max was beginning to regret this.

"I had thought that's what happened the other day..." David said slowly. "Before you, you know. Kicked me."

Max shrugged. "I don't have the best reflexes, okay?"

"I see," David said. He had a thoughtful look on his face. "So... is that why you've been hugging me so much this week? Because you wanted me to do it again?"

God, he sounded so earnest it made Max wanna hurl.

"I do not wanna talk about this," he huffed, staring at the TV and pretending his face wasn't on fire.

"Max, it's okay!" God dammit, he could hear the laughter in David's voice. "Kiddo, buddy, it's okay, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I'm not judging you. I'm just surprised! I mean, you were always so grumpy at camp, I just never would've thought that it's something you'd like. It's actually really--"

"Don't you dare!"

"Cute!"

Max glowered. "Shut the fuck up, camp man!"

"Okay, okay!" David said, raising his hands in defeat. "I'll stop, I promise. But... Max, I'm not gonna tickle you if you keep telling me to stop. I don't like playing unless I know you're still having fun. So I'm sorry, but if you want me to tickle you, you're going to need to tell me."

This was actually hell. Fuck David, for real.

Max couldn't even look at him now. His eyes were locked on his fingers, twiddling with his hoodie strings.

"... Do I have to say it out loud?" he mumbled, half hoping David wouldn't hear him.

To his surprise, David didn't respond right away. Max looked at him only to find David was already watching him in thought.

"Here," he finally said. David leaned back, and while keeping eye contact with Max, rested his arm in the same position on the back of the couch again.

Max hesitated. Then he scampered back forward and resumed his place leaning against David's side, letting David wrap his arm around his shoulders again.

"Is this okay?" David asked, and Max was about to swear at him again before he felt David's hand once again, this time scratching up and down his arm through his hoodie.

Max gave a full-body shiver. Fuck David. "It's fine."

David nodded, pleased. "I'm gonna put the movie back on."

Max nodded, wary and on edge. He tried to keep watching the movie, but David's blunt nails trailing up and down his upper arm were impossible to ignore. Each brush reached a bit closer to his neck every time, and he fought the urge to twitch.

Suddenly he felt two fingers scratch lightly against his neck. He snapped his head to the side. "David!"

"What's wrong?" David asked, sounding far too pleased with himself. "This is what you want, right?" Before Max could even answer there was another hand on his stomach, scribbling and wiggling haphazardly over the blanket. Even with the layers, Max couldn't help but squirm. Giggles started falling out of his mouth without his permission.

"Awwwww," David cooed, "are you ticklish there, Maxy?"

Max shook his head, not even in response to the question, just to try to get some of his nervous energy out. David's hand left his neck and reappeared at his side, curling into a claw and scribbling blindly wherever he could reach.

Squeals of laughter rung through the air. Max's body didn't even know how to react with all the sensations, and he ending up curling even closer to David's side, shoving his face into David's shoulder as he tried to muffle his giggles. David tsked.

"Maximilian," he said in a faux-stern voice. "Why are you trying to hide? I'm only tickling you."

Suddenly he stopped, and Max took deep breaths, only to let out a completely involuntary squeak as he felt David's arms wrapping around his torso. Without warning he was lifted and shifted until he was on David's lap, wrapped in a hug that coincidentally also left him without any escape routes. He didn't even get a moment to complain about it, however, before David was tickling him again.

"Uh oh, looks like someone forgot their bug spray!" David teased. "Here come the ants!" He walked his fingers up and down the back of Max's ribs, giggling when the action made Max's laughter grow even louder.

"Aw, what's the matter? I'm just tickling you, silly. I thought you liked my tickle hugs!"

Max shoved his fists against David's chest, trying to push away, but he couldn't focus with how badly it tickled. David wrapped his arms tighter around Max's torso until his hands were resting on his sides.

"Do you remember when we learned the Heimlich maneuver?" David asked. Max didn't respond, too busy moving from side to side but finding the hands tickled no matter where he went. "Remember, you wrap your arms around the person, and you squeeze!"

David did just that, except instead of squeezing like they'd learned in safety camp, his hands tazed against Max's sides. Max screamed, throwing his head back and laughing like crazy as David did it again. And again. And again.

"Tickle tickle! Tickle tickle! Tickle tickle!" David chanted in time with his squeezes, his voice going goofy and ridiculous with every squeeze. "Boy, you sure are giggly today, aren't you? You're not a Mr. Grumpypants, no sir, you're just a little cutie pie!"

"Davihihid!" Max whined. He curled forward and shoved his forehead against David's shoulder, only to jump and squeal when he felt the counselor blowing cool breath against his ears. Desperate for something to do, he found himself grasping handfuls of David's shirt, not pulling, just holding on tight.

"You still having fun?" Davis asked. Max nodded, his brain too fuzzy to think about being sarcastic. He felt rather than heard David laugh, the action reverberating in his chest as he continued to tickle all over Max's sides and back.

Finally his hands slowed, then stopped.

"Alright, it's okay," he said as Max's peals of laughter fell to just panting giggles. "Let's breathe, okay?"

To Max's surprise he didn't push the kid off his lap; instead he merely adjusted his hands so his palms were lying flat against Max's back. He jumped when they started moving again, but this time David was merely rubbing slow circles in the center of his back, careful to avoid any tickle spots.

Max finally caught his breath, dropping his head once again until his cheek rested on David's shoulder. He coughed once, and David stopped.

"Is your throat okay?" he asked, that annoying concern back in his voice. "Do you want some water, or tea?"

"I'm fine," Max replied hoarsely. He could tell David was unconvinced, so he continued before he could protest. "Later."

That seemed to be enough for David, and after a beat he continued rubbing Max's back. A few seconds later, one of his hands moved upwards until he was cradling the back of Max's head, his fingers brushing gently through his thick black hair.

Jesus, if anyone from camp saw him now, he didn't even know what they'd say. They'd probably just assume he was poisoned again. He'd almost rather be poisoned than let his friends see him now: literally curled up on David's lap after being tickled nearly to tears.

But there was no one else here. Just him and David, and David wasn't going to make fun of him. He'd told Max that, and Max believed him.

He closed his eyes, let the drone of the forgotten movie fall into the background, and drifted off. The last thing he felt was David's arms, still wrapped around him, keeping him safe.

#my posts #my writing #tickling #tickle fic #tickletober 2024 #augtickletober2024 #tt24 #camp camp tickles #lee!max #ler!david

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